


Six Days

by Auggusst



Series: The Soldier And The Scientist [22]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Anxiety, Captain America Civil War - Freeform, Civil War, Depression, Hate, Heartbreak, Hurt, Lovesick, M/M, Recovery, Stony - Freeform, Tony is sad, Trauma, injuries, mcu - Freeform, moping, remembering violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-01
Updated: 2019-04-01
Packaged: 2019-12-30 05:54:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,363
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18309530
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Auggusst/pseuds/Auggusst
Summary: It's been 6 days since the fight in Siberia, and Tony Stark feels more miserable than ever.





	Six Days

**Author's Note:**

> It took me 3 years to finally sit down and write out my feelings about this. Civil War screwed me up bad.

There was a gaping hole in his chest, big and dark and cold. It filled him with emptiness so strong it made his fingertips numb. Emptiness that made his ears full, his legs weak, and his voice hoarse.

Tony looked at his reflection in the mirror. He looked horrible. The bruise on his temple had melded with the one on his cheek, dark and purple, sensitive to the touch, despite being granted almost a week ago. He still wore an arm sling, the throbbing in his bones too strong to jostle the appendage more than a little. He could see another bruise creeping over the neckline of his t-shirt, and the dark circles under his eyes were worse than usual. It was difficult to stand for more than maybe twenty minutes, and his head almost constantly hurt. Actually, most of his body hurt, more than it had a week ago. None of that mattered though. None of it compared to the overwhelming and singular pain his heart felt.

It had been six days since the fight in Siberia. Six days since he had seen or spoken to Steve. Six days since his life had been ruined, and he had no one to blame but himself. Tony wasn’t proud. The way he handled the last week was counted as one of the worst decision-making spells in his life. He had just been so stressed, so overwhelmed by the pressure of the Accords and the overwhelming guilt that had been pushed upon him. He was overwhelmed by the responsibility of the team and the press, the reality of being unable to come to a compromise with his own partner, and the crushing realization of betrayal. It had been too much. Tony had prided himself on becoming patient in the last few years, had learned to listen and step back. He no longer deserved the title of ‘egomaniac,’ if he could truly have been called that to begin with. Well, maybe when he was in his teens. He had matured, had become reasonable, a decent leader, and someone to count on. Someone who could control his emotions when it mattered. All of that progress had been thrown out the window by a grainy security camera video that revealed the truth of his parents’ demise.

 Seeing his parents die, seeing the life choked out of his mother and his father’s skull fractured against the wheel… It was traumatic, utterly shocking, and it made his blood run cold. His throat closed up, like someone stuck a hot poker down it, and had yanked it out. His knees had threatened to give out, held aloft by his armor, and his heartbeat was absurdly fast. But that hadn’t been the worst part. Tony had made peace with his parents’ death years ago, had drowned his tears in alcohol and one night stands, and a number of other unhealthy coping methods. He had been content to never think about that day again, when he was only 18 and a bunch of officials turned up at his mansion with the news. He had been thrust into the spotlight, the subject of magazines and news reports for months. The attention was probably a big factor in his unhealthy grieving. It took him years to get over it, to rationalize. The information he knew wasn’t even true. Tony knew the truth now, that it hadn’t been a crash, that it was murder, and he couldn’t decide if it was better or worse. The video had been painful to watch, but the lie he had been fed topped it.

Steve, his own partner, had known for years, and had withheld the information. Tony had spoken about his parents to Steve a few times, had admitted the difficult nature of his relationship with them both, the borderline abuse he suffered from his father. He admitted the way Howard tore him down constantly, threatened him or made him miserable, refused to see him as anything more than a disappointment. He had told Steve everything, had shared his deepest insecurities, the issues that plagued him until this day, had haunted him all his life. Steve had known all of that, had known how it tore Tony up, and he withheld the truth anyway. If only he had said something long ago, Tony would have been able to grieve, to process it all, and to make peace with it. He would have been able to move on, especially with the blond at his side. Things could have been different, could have been good. But no, it was shoved at him in the middle of a crisis, when the killer was standing in the room.

Tony didn’t hate Barnes. No matter what he did, Tony didn’t hate him. He understood that Barnes had been brainwashed, hadn’t been himself. He knew Barnes was innocent of the UN bombing, knew he had been framed and was a victim. He had wanted to help, for the man’s sake, and naturally the sake of Steve. He knew how much Barnes meant to Steve, had heard countless stories of their youth, and was there when Steve would awaken in a cold sweat, shouting for his friend. He was there on afternoons when Steve would be inconsolable, overwhelmed by thoughts of the past and future. Tony didn’t mean to fuck everything up. It had just been too much. Seeing Barnes on the footage, remorseless and vicious, tearing life from his parents while he was standing feet away, was too much. It was the straw that broke the camel’s back, had made his blood boil over, the tension of the last few days mounting explosively. He lashed out, but Tony didn’t hate Barnes. In that moment, he hated Steve. He had wanted to hurt him, and Barnes seemed the best way to do it. It wasn’t fair, it wasn’t sensible, but it was what he did.

Tony wasn’t a stranger to betrayal. He had learned to sleep with one eye open, never to trust, never to feel comfortable with another. He never put his life in the hands of others, only allowed a select few to touch him, to surround him. Tony had lived sheltered by his armor, both physically and mentally. He never thought anyone would break down his walls, or even cared to, until his relationship with Steve changed from co-workers to friends to something more. Steve had changed everything. He had warmed Tony so completely, had been dependable, a wonderful influence, an absolute comfort. He had been a breath of fresh air after drowning for years, motivation to be a better human, a bridge to feeling alive. He had helped Tony overcome his vices, had encouraged him, and kept him safe and happy. Steve had been everything Tony needed to feel whole, not so broken. So it was safe to say Tony didn’t anticipate the singularly destructive heartbreak he would feel standing in an abandoned Soviet facility, facing the soul-crushing realization that Steve had chosen someone over him. Not romantically, of course. Tony had been cheated on and had cheated on plenty of others in the past, and he always survived. He had almost expected Steve to break up with him already, and was surprised he hadn’t. It would have been easier if he did. Tony could recover from a regular breakup. This was a different situation entirely. Steve had decided who he couldn’t live without in general, and it hadn’t been Tony. He depended on Steve, needed him as much as he needed air, and apparently the feeling wasn’t mutual.

Staring into the mirror Tony was filled with regret. His eyes were dark, haunted, and he didn’t think they would ever light up again. Closing his eyes made it no better. He could see snow falling, darkened corridors, and worst of all, the absolute anger in Steve’s eyes as he pinned him to the ground, the fury in his motions as he struck him in the chest, off-lining his suit. It was the first time the blond had ever frightened him. He was dark, vengeful, and desperate. Tony had never seen him like that, not even the time Tony had been kidnapped. But he saw him like that in Siberia, when Tony was on the receiving end of hard punches that made him see stars, pushes that pressed bruises into his body even through his suit. His heart had been bursting out of his chest, his throat tight and mind running miles per minute, anger, sadness and fear combining intensely. It had all been orchestrated perfectly, a five minute bomb with a personal toll so heavy there was no recovering. He wasn’t able to stop the words that fell from his lips when it was over, couldn’t stop himself from pushing Steve away when all he wanted was for him to stay. Steve had left him, had taken his best friend and left Tony alone and in the snow, cold and broken, for the millionth time in his life, and he had no one to blame but himself.

The brunet sighed, blinking away tears as he stood before the mirror. He noticed his hands had begun to shake, a familiar tightening in his chest beginning to form. He tried to push away the memory, to remind himself it was over. He was alive and home, and the world would keep on spinning, no matter how much he wished it would just collapse.

He felt a tear slide down his cheek and shook his head, exhaling softly. He knew crying wouldn’t fix anything, it never did, but he couldn’t stop himself. Tony turned from the mirror, willed his legs to move forward to the large bed—their bed. His bed. He wasn’t sure anymore. A shaky hand ran over the warm sheets, the mattress soft and inviting. He sniffled, blinking away tears. The scientist struggled to remove his arm sling. There was usually someone around to take care of it, but he couldn’t even bear to look at Rhodey or Pepper tonight, never mind the fact that the hour was late. Feeling miserable was hard enough, but Tony hated being pitied. It reminded him of the look his school teachers would give him when neither of his parents would bother to make it to one of his award ceremonies. They made excuses for themselves and Tony passed them to his instructors, but that didn’t change the fact that they were absent. It didn’t change the fact that his classmates whispered behind his back, and their parents did the same. He was always a pitiable creature. For a lot of people, that pity eventually ran out. Many people hated him or envied him, and he preferred that to those who gave him sad looks or offered condolences.

He groaned as the sling finally slid off his arm. He didn’t bother picking it up from the floor where it had landed. Lowering his arm made the brunet knit his brows, feeling stiff and sensitive. He wore a t-shirt and sweatpants, valuing comfort over appearance lately, save the few times he had to leave the house. He hadn’t properly shaved since the ordeal either, the bruises making it a little difficult. Settling into the bed made him aware of the ache in his bones again, and he stared up at the ceiling, trying to will the pain away. He really was a shitty person, wasn’t he? He deserved this pain, deserved whatever happened to him for not being good enough.

Tony had never been good at taking the high road, and had hoped to change that. He had wanted to take a page out of Steve’s book. He seemed good at it. Of course that was a lie, wasn’t it? He certainly didn’t take the high road this time around. Tony should have been impressed at Steve’s will, his determination to go against the grain for what he wanted. The media liked to portray him as a boyscout, as a righteous and just figure, but Tony knew now that wasn’t true. He was alright with discovering the truth. He had just hoped he wouldn’t get hurt in the process. It was a selfish thought, and he knew it. Tony had always been selfish; his parents had told him so. His partners had told him so.  He never wanted to believe it, but he knew. He felt selfish now, staring at the ceiling as his eyes squeezed out hot tears.

Stupid. He was so stupid. _Steve_ was so stupid. Things were fine. They had been happy, had a good thing going, and they had to ruin it. He wanted to scream. He wanted to yell, break things, to inflict even a fraction of the pain he felt on someone else. But that wasn’t fair. It would probably just make him feel worse.

It was quiet in the room. The silence was suffocating. He turned to face the empty pillow at his side, the hole in his chest panging strongly, gripping at his edges. He was alone again, not just physically. He didn’t mind that so much. Sometimes Tony actively avoided people, retreating to his workshop, unwilling to face another person. Being alone in a room wasn’t too bad. It was being _alone_ , mentally, emotionally, that ruined him time and time again. He was always alone, it felt like. People came, and promised to stay, but sooner or later they all left, and now it had happened again. If anyone would stay, he thought it would be Steve. He was wrong. Was it too much to ask to have someone? To be understood, to be loved? Apparently it was, for Tony. He couldn’t believe how stupid he had been, how he had gotten his hopes up. When would he learn his lesson? The answer was never.

With a gasp of pain he turned onto his stomach, resting a bruised cheek on his own pillow momentarily. He should’ve taken some medication before lying down. They had given him the good stuff, thanks to his high pain threshold, but he forgot all about it. The medication couldn’t take the knife out of his heart anyways. He crawled across the bed slowly, trying to keep the weight off his arm, until he reached Steve’s side. His fingers curled around Steve’s pillow. It had been almost a week, but pressing his face to it he could still smell Steve’s scent. He frowned, chest hurting. He hated it. He hated the way his body reacted to his emotions, the way he felt like he had been hit by a freight train time and time again. The train had been running non-stop this week, and he couldn’t get a hand on the brakes. A sob bubbled up, and he couldn’t stop it. Tony cried, for what felt like the millionth time in the last few days.

He wondered if Steve was crying, if Steve thought of him at all. Where was he at? Was he safe? Who was he with? Was he able to get Barnes the help he needed? Tony felt guilty. It was only natural Steve would want to protect his friend, his last link to the past. He shouldn’t have underestimated what Bucky meant to Steve, the lengths he was willing to go to save him. Tony didn’t mind that. He would have gone to the ends of the earth for Rhodey too. Tony just didn’t want it to come between them, and it did.

 Steve was a fugitive now. He had broken Wanda and the others out of the Raft a day ago. Tony had been given an earful by Secretary Ross long before that, and had almost collapsed in the meeting room from the pressure. He was only allowed to stay in the hospital as long as it took to complete a checkup including an MRI and other scans, secure his medication, and to be given a list of directions for proper care(which was more often than not ignored). He was in the hospital for two days. He couldn’t remember the extent of his injuries right now. He was too tired to list them in his head.

The meeting with the secretary was a day after his release, and Tony had wanted nothing better than to blow it off, but it would’ve caused more trouble than it was worth. The meeting was unpleasant, with the secretary wringing answers from the brunet as he tried to keep himself composed. Any indication that he knew where Steve was or what he was doing would implicate him, and he was on thin ice as it was, so Tony didn’t have any helpful answers to give. Even if he did, he would have kept them to himself. He wished he could do more. He wished he _knew_ more. There had been no word thus far.

The Accords were a mistake, and he had known it since their introduction, but his hands were tied. They weren’t inherently bad, and could eventually be put to good use, when revised. If only Steve had seen the big picture, had seen that down the road things could be amended, could be changed, once the public trusted them again. If only the last few days hadn’t happened. Steve was never good at seeing the big picture. They argued less in recent years than when they met, but when it came to planning, there was still a good amount of debate. It was difficult to see eye to eye sometimes, especially when Steve’s picture was painted differently than Tony’s. This time his picture was small, like the one Tony knew he kept in his wallet, a reminder of those he had lost. Of course Steve would fight to hold on. It was natural. Tony just didn’t think he’d set the whole world on fire in the process.

Tony was certainly burning, inside and out. He felt suffocated, crushed by misery, filled with regret. He clenched his fists, wound the sheets around them to keep himself grounded. His throat was hoarse from crying, his eyes burned from the tears. How could things have gone so wrong? A week ago he was happy. Stressed, and his usual mess of a self naturally, but happy. He had lain here, content and warm, strong arms wrapped around him, feeling safe and loved.  Now he was cold, empty, hollow.

Steve…stupid, son of a bitch Steve. Tony cursed him for making him feel this way. He cursed him for capturing his heart in the first place. Tony had given it so freely too, like an idiot. He should have known better. He never learned. He wished the blond were here now, so Tony could scream at him. Steve would just stand there, brush it off, or maybe he would get angry too, and they’d argue all over again. Did Steve know? Did he have any idea, an inkling, of the way this had affected Tony?

“Stupid,” he muttered against the sheets. He wasn’t sure which one of them he meant. Maybe both.

The brunet knit his brows, teeth clenching in annoyance. He should have been smarter, should have handled it better. He should’ve been able to keep himself in check. Steve shouldn’t have lied. He should have been more willing to listen, to think a goddamn second before acting. And the others…he didn’t want to think about the others. Who did he have left to rely on? Rhodey and Pepper. It was always just Rhodey and Pepper. Natasha had openly betrayed his side and belittled him, Vision had inflicted a major injury on his best friend, (though Tony knew that wasn’t intentional) and the others couldn’t see the point in playing along with the Accords. Why was it so hard for them to think? Why did no one trust him to deal with it? Tony had spent years working with the government and then working his way around it. Why didn’t they believe he could sort the mess out with time? Why was it always Tony against the world? He was sick of it, honestly. He hadn’t made a fuss when Vision asked permission to leave, with a promise of returning on a bi-weekly basis. He snorted at the thought. Even his own creation couldn’t stand to be around him. It amazed him Rhodey and Pepper could.

Pepper was busy, as usual, but after hearing what had happened, she took the first two days off to stay with him at the hospital. Her angry rant was amusing, had made him feel half-way human again. She pet his hair, like she knew he liked, assured him it wasn’t his fault. He didn’t believe her, but the sentiment was nice. Rhodey’s rant wasn’t comical. He was simply pissed. If he hadn’t still been wheelchair bound, he would’ve flown across the world and hunted Steve down. Tony was honored that he cared so much. In his mind, he was already working on a device that would help his friend walk again. The two of them kept him company, forced him to eat or take his medication. They took care of him, like old times. He felt bad about it, but it was nice to be taken care of. Steve had taken care of him, for a while. Tony doubted that would ever happen again. Happy had visited too, attempting to cheer Tony up with his usual roughshod humor, and it worked a little.

He had learned to function during the day, but at night… Night was a different story. It was night now. He wasn’t sure of the hour, but Tony knew it was night. He had spent some time in his workshop, despite the protests of his caretakers, and had forgotten to eat dinner too. Work was the best distraction, and although he couldn’t do much lifting or tinkering, he could design. He designed new legs for Rhodey, poured his consciousness into the work, ran some tests on the physics, and asked FRIDAY to fabricate it. He had needed a surprising amount of guidance from the AI, making simple mistakes. He chalked it up to exhaustion, but it was really from his mind wandering. It always wandered, and led him to pretty blue eyes, framed by golden lashes.

He thought of them now, lying in bed. How did Steve feel? Would he ever come back? Maybe he hadn’t been happy the whole time. Maybe Tony was the distraction for him, something to keep him occupied and keep him from thinking about the people that really mattered. Tony had been too blind to see it, had selfishly accepted all the love and attention Steve was willing to give. It hadn’t occurred to him that he could have been used. Wasn’t Tony enough? Wasn’t he _good_ _enough_ to keep? A voice in his head that sounded suspiciously like Howard told him ‘No.’ He turned on his side, looking to the alarm clock on the nightstand.

_No. I’m a good person. I’ve done good things. I’ve made something of myself; I’ve done things that matter. I’m a good person. At least, I’m not the worst person_ , he thought, brushing the wet marks from his cheeks. Tony groaned in defeat. His thoughts had run back and forth in circles for days now, a cycle of self hatred and despair. He thought about drinking himself to oblivion. He thought about going downtown and picking up a bunch of drugs and getting so high he would forget his own name. He knew neither would prove useful. There wasn’t a way to make himself feel better. The hole in his chest had already grown too large, threatened to consume him entirely.

The blue digital numbers projected on his alarm clock said it was around 2am. It had been the same time that night, back in the tower, when Steve had looked into his eyes and confessed his love.

Tony closed his eyes. He could replay it, if he wanted to. He would never forget that night, the relief and contentment he had felt, the way his knees shook and lips tingled from kissing too long. Steve had looked at him with such reverence, such concern, like he was the greatest thing in the world. It was nothing like the way he looked at him in Siberia, with anger and disgust and pain. He hadn’t noticed the pain before in his replays. Tony, as usual, had been too caught up in himself. Selfish. Maybe Steve was hurting just as much as he was right now. Not physically. Tony had packed a few good punches, arguably could have won if Steve hadn’t disrupted the arc reactor, but he doubted they would still ail the super soldier, not the way Tony’s injuries ailed him. But maybe he felt just as lost, just as heartbroken. Maybe he was out there somewhere regretting his decisions, thinking of their warm bed. Tony tried not to think about it. Being hurt was one thing; he was used to it, but hurting his loved ones only made it worse. It was too late now.

Even if Steve wanted to come home, they both knew it wasn’t a good idea. Ross would spring on them in seconds, and the entire situation would go around in circles again, except this time Steve would be arguing from a jail cell. Tony wasn’t sure he was ready either. He missed Steve, so much, but there was an absurdly large rift between them. The pain radiating throughout his body was evidence of that. He couldn’t dwell on it. When the fight replayed in his head, he pushed it away, trying to stop his hands from shaking. He’d lived with anxiety long enough now to keep a handle on the lid, but this week’s events threatened to boil over. He’d never been so…scared. Even flying through the wormhole hadn’t felt like that. Could you die from feeling too much? Maybe Tony did die. Maybe he was in hell. Maybe the way his chest tightened and his hands shook, the way his lungs closed up and his breaths felt too shallow were his punishment. Maybe loving Steve had killed him. A tiny part of him always knew it would. He had done it anyway, and would again. Even a second of loving Steve, and being loved back, was worth it, was worth the numbing in his arm and the bruises on his face, the headache that wouldn’t go away.

Tony really was just a fool, wasn’t he? The brunet sighed again, lying on his back. He ran a hand under his t-shirt and over his chest, avoided the bruises and the cut or two that had been plastered with a Band-Aid. His shaky fingers settled on his scars, where the arc reactor used to be. It was a habit. He never let anyone touch him there, unless it was a medical emergency. Even Steve had only been granted permission a handful of times. He had understood, or at least accepted the scientist’s issues with it. No matter how weird it seemed to others, Steve insisted he understood.

His actions spoke otherwise, that night in the snow. Tony’s nerves jolted, and he gasped, the memory of the shield crashing down on him replaying vividly. The brunet snatched his fingers away, as if he had been burned. Tony exhaled slowly, willing away the ringing in his ears. It would be a long time before his body forgot, before he could return to some form of normalcy. He covered his face with his hands, careful of the bruises, and rubbed his sore eyes.

Sleeping wasn’t easy. It hadn’t been for years. Steve had made it easier, had brought comfort and a sense of safety. However, the association of safety with the blond had been shattered. Would he ever feel safe with Steve again? Could he stand to be in the same room? Would his body flinch away, the next time those fingertips grazed his skin? That was, if he ever gave Steve the chance again. Tony didn’t know what to think or do. His body screamed danger, insisted the blond was an enemy now, but his heart begged for salvation, begged to be held and put back together by its captor.

The brunet groaned in annoyance, at a total loss. There was nothing to do now but sleep. _Maybe I’ll feel better in the morning_ , he thought to himself, knowing it was a lie. He would not feel better in the morning. Maybe he would never feel better. His only solace was knowing that he couldn’t feel worse. Of course he thought so years ago, when Obadiah ripped the arc reactor from his chest and left him paralyzed and dying. He thought it when his nightmares escalated to the point he couldn’t sleep for 72 hours, and he put Pepper’s life in danger. He thought it most recently, watching Rhodey tumble out of the air like dead weight. It seemed life was always determined to let Tony know it can, and will get worse. He had lived though, each time.

When asked, he said it was out of spite. In reality, Tony was afraid to die when it mattered. He was afraid of disappointing others, of causing misery. He hated being a burden, and felt like one so often. He could imagine the angry words that would be spoken of his funeral, could imagine his father’s ghost sneering, affirming that he was a disappointment once and for all. Tony lived for his friends. He couldn’t imagine what dying would do to Pepper. She deserved better than that, had been a friend for years, had been more than a friend for a while. She took care of him, and he wasn’t going to ruin things for her more than he already did. He couldn’t disappoint Rhodey either, though knew he had done just that many times in his life. Rhodey had stuck through it all, even at the cost of his own autonomy. It was for their sake that Tony found the drive to go on every time, because they deserved better. For a while he had lived for Steve, too. He lived because he couldn’t bear the look in those blue eyes when he got himself injured, or when he said something that was less than sensitive about himself. Steve had given Tony self worth alongside Pepper and Rhodey. Now? He wasn’t sure. The only thing he was sure of was that his body was exhausted.

Sleep was the best course of action. He wasn’t sure how quickly it would come, but he had to make an attempt. He had to rest, had to isolate himself from the rapidly fluctuating emotions that coursed through his body, and the pain that was starting to increase since his last administration of medicine. The brunet sat up slowly, grimacing, and tenderly pulled his shirt off. He half-heartedly tossed it across the bed, to the floor. It narrowly missed, hanging onto the corner. He pushed himself back against the pillows, lifting the covers out from underneath him. He felt miserable, settling down.

He found himself lingering on Steve’s side of the bed, his faint scent enticing. Tony frowned, burying his face in Steve’s pillow, inhaling, wishing for solid weight beneath him, strong hands wrapped around his waist and pulling him close. He wanted to hear a ‘Goodnight, Tony,’ and feel a kiss pressed to his head. He wanted to feel like everything was alright, like nothing had changed. He wanted Steve. Tony’s heart ached. He was so stupid. The man had nearly beaten him to death, had lied to him and burnt their bridges. Steve had ruined him, and Tony had ruined plenty as well. There was no way back to the past, and common sense told him his future should not include the soldier. But here Tony was, missing his presence.

He whimpered, muttered to FRIDAY to turn the lights off. The brunet drew the sheets close, clinging desperately, eyes shut tight.

Tony Stark was a fool. He always was, and would be one, especially, for Steve Rogers.

 

The next morning, he received a package. It held a phone, and a letter.

**Author's Note:**

> i have 2 moods: sad or horny. Next piece will probably be horny as a gift to all of you who sat through this.


End file.
